


but you don’t tell anyone that you might not be the golden one

by nithenoel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Domestic, Established Relationship, HQSwiftWeek2020, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Oikawa Tooru, M/M, Supportive Iwaizumi Hajime, all i wanted was soft boys being soft and in love and all i got was pain and crying: the fanfiction, soft romance, this is not canon but it's not exactly an alternate universe so idk how to tag that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26464372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nithenoel/pseuds/nithenoel
Summary: It’s always the small things. An underlying tension in the line of his shoulders, a split second of hesitance before he teases back; a smile that won’t quite meet his eyes, won’t light up his face the way genuine mirth always does.Oikawa doesn’t talk about the things that bother him.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 109





	but you don’t tell anyone that you might not be the golden one

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Taylor Swift song "Tied Together With a Smile" from her album "Taylor Swift"; this was made for day 1 of the Haikyuu x Taylor Swift Week 2020 because even though I haven't written for Haikyuu in _years_ , as soon as I read her name my brain went "! ! ! !" (it was supposed to have been posted yesterday, but, yeah,,,)
> 
> Thus, here we are :) not beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine; this was meant to be fluff and a little bit of hurt/comfort, but ended up more emotional because I don't know how to not do that. The work skin is just because I like narrower paragraphs and a bigger font when I'm reading anywhere that's not my phone, and hiding it won't change your experience in any way.
> 
> If you feel I forgot to tag something, feel free to tell me.

It’s always the small things. An underlying tension in the line of his shoulders, a split second of hesitance before he teases back; a smile that won’t quite meet his eyes, won’t light up his face the way genuine mirth always does.

Oikawa doesn’t talk about the things that bother him. Has never done. He complains, yes, whines at every chance he gets, dramatizes every single situation he can and pouts like a child until he gets what he wants or something else catches his fancy, which happens more often, but‒

The things that truly matter to him, the ones he overthinks about, the things that _hurt_ ― he never brings them up. He and Hajime have been together for two years already. Their friendship is even older than that. And for the longest time, there was a part of Hajime that expected Oikawa to change, a part of him that _hoped_ Oikawa would, because that’s a sign of trust, isn’t it? Talking about the things that bother you, not only letting others see you for what you are and what you fear but actively _showing_ them those sides.

That’s how it works for Hajime. He’s a man of words, of talks, has always been. Oikawa... Is not. And there’s nothing wrong with that. They express themselves differently, is all. Hajime knows this now, knows that all they need to work is the commitment to meet somewhere in the middle. Oikawa has never said it, has never spelled it out and bared his heart with words like Hajime once wanted him to, but every single time he needed someone, Hajime was the person he sought. Every time he needed reassurance, comfort, every time he was hurt or lost, every time he felt hopeless; Hajime has lost count of how many times he’s held Oikawa tight against his chest in an attempt to help him calm down, how many soft words he has spoken trying to soothe his best friend’s nerves.

Oikawa lets Hajime see him at his worst. And he’s _willing to_ , is the thing, beause Hajime doesn’t have a single doubt he wouldn’t be able to tell if Oikawa didn’t want him to see. The disheveled hair he usually spends hours styling. The bags under his eyes that makeup always covers even when they have nowhere to go. The pure, utter exhaustion in the curve of his mouth when he dips his head in an attempt to hide the unusual sharpness in his smile.

It’s always the small things. A pair of mismatched socks and the woolly sweater Hajime gave him three years ago ― Oikawa, wordlessly scooting over on the couch when Hajime comes back home from his morning run even if he always complains about the smell of sweat.

He doesn’t, this time around. So Hajime doesn’t ask, taking what he sees in stride. Red rimmed eyes and gestures that reek of distress, Oikawa curls around him, burrowing his face against Hajime’s chest like he’s trying to hide from the world. The tv is playing what might be the collection of movies or maybe the series from the Alien Nation franchise, just loud enough to serve as background noise, and Hajime holds back the part of him that wants to tease his boyfriend for it. Instead, he lets Oikawa get comfortable and the adjusts himself accordingly, leaning sideways until they’re lying instead of sitting side by side on the couch.

They spend the entire morning like that.

Lunch comes and goes, and Oikawa still hasn’t said a word. It’s painful to watch him like this, subdued and quiet, when Hajime is so used to the buoyancy, to the lilt at the end of his sentences, to the spark of mischief and challenge that always shines in his eyes when Oikawa is about to do something reckless.

By the gods, Hajime loves him so _much_. To watch him be miserable is a torment Hajime has no idea how to deal with, even after so long. When they were kids, promises of shiny bugs and stargazing would always cheer him up. As teenagers, volleyball and movie marathons became better alternatives. In college, impromptu visits and surprise gifts sent through the mail. Every time without fail, Hajime has found a way to help, a way to try and support him. And every time, without fail, Oikawa’s sadness has hurt him as if it were his own.

Today is not any different. There’s a persistent ache inside Hajime’s chest, increasing at every detail that adds to his conviction that something isn’t okay. The zoning out, the lack of enthusiasm, how Oikawa’s eyes skitter from here to there unseeing, hands picking mindlessly at loose threads on his shorts. He doesn’t even attempt engaging in a conversation ― and so, Hajime fills in the space with his own voice. There’s not much to tell; it was an uneventful week at work, and his morning runs are rarely exciting anyway, but he saw a new coffee shop that opened three blocks down the street, and wouldn’t Oikawa like to go there some of these days? It’s been a while since they were last out together, what with their busy lives and all; Hajime wants to make up for it, and the pastries looked nice.

The mention of going out piques up Oikawa’s interest, his eyes clearing as he turns to face Hajime.

“You want to take me on a date?” there’s a hint of mirth in his voice, but the smile on his face is small and weak, a forlorn curl to a single corner of his mouth instead of a delighted upturning.

“I always want to take you on dates,” Hajime teases, not untruthfully, and catches Oikawa’s hand between his own to press a soft kiss against his knuckles. “I love you.”

It’s a subdued confession, less heated than his usually passionate ones, but no less sincere for it. Oikawa’s face softens, affection shining through the melancholic aura.

“I love you too, Iwa-chan.”

They go on about their day. And by that, Hajime means they spend most of it glued together. He takes his shower, finally, right after cleaning up the kitchen; finds the softest cotton shirt he owns, and plops right beside Oikawa again so they can watch shitty alien movies ― and he won’t complain a single time, because fifteen minutes into the first film Oikawa is already drooling on his lap, and Hajime will pay more attention to him than to the tv.

It’s not a good day. A good day has Oikawa’s laughter ringing through the apartment after Hajime bans him from the kitchen, flushed to his ears because being distracted by kisses has caused him one too many accidents with their food. It has Oikawa geeking out fact after fact from the production of these movies he likes so much, begrudgingly conceding that, yeah, okay, maybe Godzilla counts as an alien, so they can squeeze it in the marathon. A good day has Hajime peppering his boyfriend’s face with feather-like kisses just so he can watch Oikawa’s cheeks get progressively redder.

So, no, it’s not a good day. But Oikawa still huddles him for warmth, still stays ever after he wakes up from his nap, still intertwines their fingers together and proceeds to mouth every line he knows from the Nostromo crew, stuck to memory even after all these years. And Hajime‒

Hajime threads through Oikawa’s hair with his free hand, carefully untangling the knots he finds while fondness swells in his chest. The only reason he fights back the urge to lean down and kiss the corner of Oikawa’s mouth is because he knows that would distract him from the movie.

Not a good day by far. Just not a particularly bad one, either. Hajime turns his attention to the tv.

It’s been dark for a while already when they lay down to sleep. Dinner had Oikawa a bit more talkative than before, but still quieter than usual. Maybe it was the almost eight hours of watching aliens on the screen, maybe it was his sister’s spicy curry recipe that Hajime only tries his hand at on special occasions; whatever the reason, Oikawa looked, sounded, better than he did in the morning ― a tad happier, even, which is progress no matter what as far as Hajime is concerned. He knows to take his victories where he can.

Which is why he doesn’t comment on it when, despite always complaining about the heat, Oikawa ends up with his head on Hajime’s chest and one of his legs thrown over Hajime’s tighs. It’s not how they usually sleep, but it works, and as Hajime dedicates himself to slowly caressing his boyfriend’s scalp, he can’t help but to remember a time where none of this would be possible.

He had been 13, he thinks, or maybe a bit younger. Oikawa’s particular brand of clinginess had him threatening people bodily harm, not because he didn’t like being hugged, but rather because he hadn’t yet realized that wasn’t Oikawa just trying to be annoying, it was him actively trying to showcase authentic feeling where words would fail him.

Never let it be said they never misunderstood each other; past him, if he were able to see them now, would either believe it an elaborate prank or have a field day with it.

“Iwa-chan.”

The calling is hushed like a secret, like Oikawa hadn’t meant for the words to come out but couldn’t quite stop them from leaving his mouth, and Hajime hums in lieu of an answer, not moving from his position except to keep on caressing his boyfriend’s scalp. Oikawa doesn’t immediately continue what he had been about to say, fingers drawing lazy shapes against Hajime’s skin in what feels like hesitant consideration, and Hajime leaves him be.

It might’ve been just a few minutes, but it feels like forever has gone by before Oikawa speaks up again, his voice very, very small.

“Am I good enough?”

Hajime’s first instinct is to freeze.

The second, instantaneous reaction, is to move away from Oikawa; not to get away, no, and not much, either: just enough to be able to stare into his boyfriend’s eyes.

“You’re _more_ than just good enough, Tōru.” he says it with fervor.

It’s the truth. It’s always been the truth. Oikawa is an attentive, considerate friend. Annoying, sometimes downright frustrating, but never crossing boundaries, be it with Hajime or any of their friends. He takes that to their relationship, never pushing for more than what Hajime is willing to offer, more than what he feels he’s emotionally capable of.

Oikawa’s a good son, a good brother and a good uncle. Patient. Respectful. He was a good captain, too, when they played volleyball together, to the point where even those in the team who complained about him think back fondly on those times.

Hajime isn’t saying this because he loves Oikawa ― as a friend and as a lover both. He’s not saying this just because he wants to assuage a fear, to soften a blow that he knows isn’t going to come.

Hajime’s saying it because it’s the truth.

Oikawa’s eyes don’t stray from his own once. Deep brown, inquisitive and dubious, they’re the same eyes that stared at Hajime one night many months ago, open and vulnerable when Oikawa asked him out for the first time. So, _so_ scared of rejection, of being lied to, of being pitied or, worse, hated.

And just like they did that night, they fill to the brim with tears upon finding nothing but honesty in Hajime’s gaze.

“Iwa-chan.” he says once again, and then sniffles. “Iwa-chan, I‒” he doesn’t finish, pressing his face against Hajime’s chest and taking in a long, shuddering breathe.

Hajime hugs him again. Tighter than before, more purposeful than before. _I know_ , he wants to say. _I know_. He gets it, now. It’s a wonder he didn’t catch onto it sooner.

“There hasn’t ever been a moment in which you weren’t good enough,” Hajime kisses the crown of his head as Oikawa quietly sobs, “not for me.” never for him. “You’re more than worth it, Tōru. You have always been.”

Oikawa doesn’t answer, but Hajime doesn’t need him to. He’ll spend the rest of his life reassuring Oikawa of his worth, if it’s needed. Reassuring him that he’s loved. That he’s good. That he’s funny, and strong, and gorgeous, and, gods, so _frustrating_ sometimes! But, above all‒

That he’s enough. And that he’ll always be.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my sibling for putting up with me and the things I write
> 
> ([come scream at me on tumblr](https://nithesstuff.tumblr.com/))


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